Scattered Embers
by veedoesthings
Summary: Due to overwhelming numbers, the Volturi have ordered no more vampires to be made. However, one night, Wyatt stumbles upon a girl in a pool of her own blood - and she has beautiful dreams. Is now the time for second chances and breaking rules? R&R :
1. Death

**Author's Note:**

So this story came to mind when I was thinking of how some people would have been saved from near death (by Carlisle). My question was, how would somebody who was untrained as a vegetarian save someone when the scent of blood flowing easily and quickly, from multiple cuts, was there in the air? Would good things come to fruit, or not?

**Disclaimer: **I've tweaked the whole sparkling vampires thing down quite a bit, because frankly, it's a little ridiculous. The rest of the Twiconcept on vampires and werewolves belongs to Stephenie Meyer, as does the Twiverse.

**Read and review please! (:**

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Chapter One: Death

She was a dreamer.

That was the first impression I felt off her, a shockwave of dreams and longings pulsing vividly from her body. Her memories and hopes flittered through me, frail as butterflies, as all human dreams were. I approached the huddled shape tentatively. I had not planned on stumbling upon a living, breathing human girl - I had not expected to see anyone out at such an early hour. Behind me, the lamplight flickered briefly, casting a dull glow over the dark stretch of street. It was pretty, the night was, the stars glinting up in their rightful place for me alone. I could feel the wind around me with such intensity, hear the soft murmur of human voices a far way back in their own homes, but nothing was more potent than the girl lying before me right then and there. Her body was slumped over, her fair, fair hair - hair that was almost white - spilling over her face. She lay in an obscure position before a pretty, well-tended garden, and a picturesque, cottage-like house. Something was hooked on the white picket fence; her bag, presumably. I approached, trying to make my footsteps loud and meaningful, to startle her into waking. Still, she did not stir.

I flitted through the night, avoiding the clumps of housing and human objects that sprung up at me, to the other side of the road. The grey stretch of tarmac was still empty, and nobody was in sight. Gently, I extended my probe; I had perfected the art of sensing beings so that I could filter through them, one at a time, rather than have a tidal wave of dreams assault me. I caught a woman's idle wishing her husband would pleasure her once more - a little boy's hopeless desire for a new bike -- the soft murmurings of a couple -- but no concern, no radiating despair and loss.

So this girl was on her own then.

I approached slowly. My body felt strange, like it lacked something that was both unnecessary and yet familiar. _Air, _I reminded myself, _just breathe a little. _While it had been an odd one hundred and fifty nine years since I'd been truly required to breathe, I still liked the motion; the easy influx of sweet air, and then the corresponding outflow of stale, dusty breath. Had I noticed the dark liquid pooling around the girl, though, I would not have breathed in so deeply.

At once my throat seized up, and I panicked, flying backwards, as far away from the girl as I could possibly get. I closed my eyes, fighting against the instinctive desire and passion that raged through me; felt my fingers dig through the metal of the lamppost as if it was nothing but thin air. I was strong - I knew that - and swift, and almost untraceable when I wanted to be. I could carry the girl off, the dying girl, take her far away from these suburbian streets and devour her elsewhere. Her scent was intoxicating, crushing, destroying me internally; if my heart still beat, it would've thudded furiously, driving me onwards. The centre of my world swayed. I did not dare breathe once more; the reminder of her smell was already flames scorching my entire body. It possessed me, ravaged me like a beast. The streets shrunk and faded as my willpower battled, and then as it gave way, increased, bursting into exuberant detail. In my mind I mapped plans - so many plans - to grab that dying girl, to feast upon that sweet blood. It sang to me, more potent than anything before - smelt like a thousand flowers I could not name, smelt like a rich, robust wine I had never tasted, called me like the drugs I'd heard of so often. It was strange, I thought, in one clear moment of sanity, how these spasms ripped through me, how every desire told me to move _forward, _how my body was poised for action, my hands curled into claws ready to rip and tear, my teeth bared, every single bit of me primed for the fight, and yet, I still clung to a stupid lamppost in the vain hope I could control myself.

_No, _something told me, although that voice was very faint and dim. I could remember Carlisle; the man with the kind eyes and the warm smile who'd created me. I had lived with him for a handful of years before the crowd and the pressure had finally made me buckle and turn. I could remember his warmth, his kindness in saving me from the numerous bullet wounds I'd sustained as a traitor to the nation.

"_Wyatt, you can't go back." _he'd told me, the very first chiming words that had issued from his mouth, "_There's no place for you. I faked your death; gave it out to the news."_

He'd then gone on to tell me how he lived, and I'd tried it. It had been harder for me than anything - harder than handing secret documents over to the wrong side. I'd struggled not to breathe, to relax my tense pose and calm the bloodlust in my eyes when I'd smelt that warm, wet scent of human blood. Carlisle had trained me diligently, never sighing nor complaining when I'd given into my instincts; he had merely supported me. On my first few animal kills, no matter what disgusted faces I pulled, he'd applauded me on, a light shining in his eyes. But then - after the fifth human kill or so, it had grown too much. I had left, undoubtably shattering his hopes and dreams - turning my back on my creator and heading into Canada into an attempt to cull my fiery bloodlust. I had hoped a century would destroy it; after all, my eyes were golden now.

But, golden or not, nothing could erase that indomitable thirst for blood. _This _blood. _This girl's _blood. I had smelt blood when it had been spilled around me in larger quantites than this before, and even on my own, I had managed to walk away, drop my head and hide my shining eyes. But this time, this girl's blood allured me - it was like musk, like Halloween candy, and it possessed me. Dimly, I tried to recall Carlisle's face - tried to stop myself once more. The lamp-post crumbled beneath my fingers, and suddenly, his face was gone - and all restraint had snapped. The world vanished into a pinprick of a girl; there was nothing else but her blood, her body, and I; that indescribable possesion filling me.

She was small and paler than any human I'd expected; her white-blonde hair almost matched the colour of her skin. She was crumpled like she wasn't supposed to be crumpled, her body pulled in on itself painfully. And she was cold. But my mind did not process any of this; the heady scent of her blood filled me, and I felt my instincts roar at me; _drink. Drink plentifully and be cured of this madness. And then, return with her body, and hide her. And forget all this. Forget._

Would I ever be able to look at Carlisle once more? Most likely not. He would just become another distant memory.

And then the girl's voice cried out to me. I could suddenly sense her, read her, _feel _her like never before had I felt any other being. Her despair was larger than any other emotion, swallowing me up in an infinity of darkness. Her _soul -- _was broken. I could see that. I could feel my own ripping and twisting within me, as her's had. Her awareness was there - finite and dim, like a candle slowly going out, and while I could not read her thoughts - that was a power I did not possess - I could feel the finality of her death. Her memories flashed at me through her unconsciousness; jeering faces, bruises on her body, her mother in tears and her father laughing, walking haphazardly with a ruddy complexion and unfocused eyes. More blows landing - they stung both me and her, and we flinched away. A knife - sharp, jagged, tearing open her sky. Thick red blood splurting out - I pulled away from her dreams, desperate not to let the fire possess me anymore.

But she threw more at me, prettier dreams this time - memories of a boy who'd held her tight and kissed her, happy thoughts of sunshine and rain on autumn days, a little girl jumping in a pile of leaves, the fans whirring as she passed a note to a friend in class. More, and more; artwork covering her bedroom wall, a silent movie clicking it's way through a reel as she laughed. Stories, beautiful words, more images - more, and more, and more. I pulled away, desperate, gasping; there was too much. Too much beauty. Too much despair. Too much loss.

But the bloodlust had abated slightly - just so slightly. I had felt her despair and her own triumph at her taking her life. She hadn't wanted to, but had been compelled to. Like I was compelled to finish it for her. We were strange beings, that was true. I felt her conscious flicker briefly inside my head, and then, with the slightest of sighs, the candle went out. The girl on the ground did not move, but her blood cooled. My desire was as potent as ever, but I forced it back, trying to concentrate.

"Hey." I murmured. I pulled a name from one of her half-dreams. "Jennifer. Jennifer, wake up. _C'mon."_

I did not touch her, for fear I would break her; she seemed so frail already. The girl did not stir, but I saw the tip of her candle glow faintly; she was almost gone.

"Jennifer - Jenny? Jen?" I murmured. I didn't lean closer either; instead, I projected my voice to her ears alone. "You've got ... paintings to do. Stories to write. Sculptures to create. Jennifer, your friends are going to be worried."

Suspicion ran through her heart; she did not know me. She did not have friends.

"Ben." I said, pulling another name from her memories. This time, the candle flickered once more - a little stronger. "Ben's waiting for you in class, I bet."

She moved slightly, and the scent of her blood grew stronger - more powerful than before, now that I knew her. The lust overtook me once more; slammed into my chest, and I curled my fists, standing there like a statue. I knew this dying girl now. I knew her dreams, her beautiful dreams. And I'd never been a gentleman before - I had simply drunk my fill and taken what I could, as any other vampire would've - but this time, I couldn't bring myself to feast. She - _Jennifer - _had thrown her memories at me. Her dreams. And they had been beautiful.

I could do one thing.

I dipped my head to her throat, and the scent ravaged me once more, shaking my entire body. Her skin was soft, but cold - thank god it didn't possess the warmth that would've driven me into a blind haze. I was thankful she was dying; thankful I could save fher, rather than rid her of her humanity like she might not've wanted. Briefly, it occured to me she would prefer to die - but the quiet fear that had called me to her suggested otherwise. She was so very cold - her blood was cooling too, although faintly, so faint I had to listen more intently, her pulse still ran. The need, the _desire, _for blood ran through me once more and I drank - for just a moment. Her blood rushed through me like a hot burn, despite the fact it was cool, but I pulled my face away, struggling to control myself. Instead, I bit down there, on her neck; and then at her pulse points. I could only hope. I had never created before, not like Carlisle - and yet, as I staggered away to hide, to wash the blood from my lips, pride shot through me. I had resisted temptation, as Adam could've resisted the apple.

I hadn't resisted Eve's charms, though.

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I hoped you liked it! I'll update soon! Now rush off, and go write up a **review **for me, yeah mm'kays?


	2. Revelations

**Author's Note:**

Well, Wyatt's golden moment has come and gone. He's currently unaware of the new restrictions by the Volturi, else he wouldn't have done what he did. But now it's time for wakesies wakesies. The girl's been … burning for three days. It's time for her to wake. **Read and review please! (:**

**Disclaimer: **Lalalala, only Wyatt & The Girl belong to me. All else, is Mrs. Meyer's.

Chapter Two: Revelations

She had screamed intermittently, short bursts of heated cries, and then ragged panting. She'd sobbed too; gasps of air and cries that had sounded strangled. I had not stayed too long with her; instead I had hunted, despite the fact there was no blood to tempt me anymore – I had washed it all off her. I had not touched her too much, only cleaning her deep wounds – the long, jagged scars down her arms had previously revulsed me, but now, they were just wounds. I had stayed away from her too, keeping her quiet in the house I owned for as long as possible. When she began to groan again, I'd flitted back to check on her. Her skin was growing marbled, and the wounds almost nonexistent, but I had kept my eyes focused on her face – her still human face.

Occasionally, her eyes would open – blank and wide as she'd screamed. They were a pretty green, delicate and floral, and framed by dark lashes. Her skin was creamy white, almost ghostly, her features delicate and china-like. She was pretty, I'd surmised – tempting to human boys, certainly, but the strange paleness of her skin and hair in contrast to her vivid eyes was startling. Like any human, she had her flaws; her dints and cracks and pores that made her genuinely normal. Not like me.

On the third day, I hovered by her bedside in the blue room of the house, waiting for her to wake. She struggled and flailed viciously in her bed, tearing the sheets to shreds as she screamed, echoing howls of agony that broke the window. Her face was tortured, and I heard the uneven rasp of her snarls as she struggled to free herself from my restraining hands. Her moves were sharp and accurate, her new hands clawing into my skin and digging at my shirt. Her eyes opened just slightly for a moment, and I caught a glimpse of a murky sea polluted with blood before they rolled back into her head. She shook on the bed there, trembling, gasping for breath, as her heartbeat raced on. Another scream, so heartbreaking I thought to run from the room. The neighbours would come soon.

On impulse, I pressed my mouth to her's – she did not fall slack, but fought all the more harder, scraping, clawing, beating and battering me. She screamed against me, thrashing and flailing, and I held her there, hoping that the embrace would calm and soothe her, and that I could swallow her screams. Never once did she hesitate to attack me, and I would've laughed at the fury of her flurry of attacks, had she not been in pain.

Then her heart gave out. The vicious, raging drumbeats I heard crashed into silence. I could only hear the rustling of the sheets as they slid off the bed; nothing more. I stepped back, releasing her, so I could see her.

Her eyes were open; while I had expected the bloodred colour, it was still a shock. I felt a momentary pang of annoyance – the previous green of her eyes had been much prettier, much more … alive. These deep sharp eyes that looked out at me were alien and angry, possessing none of the girl's former warmth. She was, undeniably, a beauty – just as all vampires were. Her features had been enhanced; her features straight and petite still, her eyes wide and alluring, their numerous, thick lashes each tinted with a shade of night I couldn't name. She was pale – paler than any other vampire I knew, like snow, or paper, or oblivion, but somehow smaller. Still she was graceful, her proportions feminine and adult, her limbs smooth and slender and supple. Her hair had grown, now falling to her waist in a waterfall of snow; it was almost impossible to believe it's colour and it's rich texture. Her lips, unusually dark red next to her fair features, parted.

A soft murmur – she sounded like a bird, gentle and distant – echoed around the room. She was asking what happened; where she was. I was surprised she hadn't crouched, hadn't bared her teeth at me, but after all, a good five minutes had passed. I could feel her confusion – and distantly, her despair, written in her soul.

"Jennifer?" I said quietly, knowing it would reach her.

At once she was crouched down low, her hair whipping out behind her, rage and grief written in a fiery language through her soul and on her face. She paused, seeing her arms – pale, but whole and unmarked, stretched out before her. I moved towards her – her head whipped up once more to stare accusingly. Her body shook, and she did not speak, but I could feel her wordless shock at having lost her one chance to escape. Still, she would not say anything - and neither would I.

"That's not my name." her rich voice answered, and there was an edge of hostility to it, "That's my mum's."

Her body shuddered for a moment, and then she pulled herself back together, her displeasure at having betrayed her emotion vivid in her face. I dared not move towards her once more; I remembered her dreams. Once again they were overflowing from her, although this time, her emotions were faded, blurry.

"I don't mean to startle you." I said in a softer voice. "But I have to ask – what is your name?"

Another spasm rippled through the girl, and her red eyes darted vividly from place to place, not focusing on me. I knew she was seeing through her new, proper eyes; seeing every infinite detail she'd never picked up on before, hearing everything, tasting absolutely _everything. _I knew I had to be quick. The burn would come soon.

"Please."

The girl snarled, a throaty sound low in her throat, but she was trying. After a moment, her stance relaxed. "Phoebe." she managed. "What … happened?"

I sat down. It would take a while to explain.

---

"A vampire." Phoebe had repeated dully when I'd told her everything I knew. "You … created me."

Her red eyes had not lost their spark, but some of the anger had faded in her soul. I had read her carefully as I'd explained, watched as she'd searched through foggy human memories to find those last few moments of death. She'd been silent as she'd recalled her slowing pulse, a feeling of creeping cold I vaguely remember too, and then sharp swords sinking into her over and over.

She had listened as I'd explained Carlisle, vegetarianism, and all that I knew to her; the Volturi, our new bodies, our instincts and so on to her. Her soul hadn't kept still though; it had flitted from one emotion to another, and she had radiated wave upon wave of anger followed by despair, finally followed by a blurry sense of hope.

In her birdsong voice, she had asked, "Why didn't you just let me die?"

I did not know how to share my own emotions, my own memories; that talent was locked to me forever. I had tried, many times; tried projecting my own self, rather than absorbing. It had not worked. It was not possible.

"I saw," I began, lowering my gaze to her's. She had blazed back at me, no fear, no hate, no emotion whatsoever in those red eyes, "I saw your memories. And your creations. And all you felt. And … all of it … well, I couldn't see that going to waste. I didn't want … your life to end."

"_But it has." _Her birdsong voice was low and threatening, and the waves of malice overcame me. Knowing my gift for reading people, she was purposefully throwing them out, filling her nonexistent heart with hatred and rage. Two emotions I was very familiar with, but could not prevent in any way shape or form.

It was true, though. She was no longer human; she had no 'life'. She simply had forever.

"I know." I said, "I … am sorry, Phoebe. But-"

She'd struck at me then, the boulder crash deafening, and then fought me bitterly, clawing into my skin, biting. Her teeth sunk deep and she was _strong; _my shoulder ached from her bite, and the wound was deep.

But there was nothing that could be done.

---

We went hunting.

Phoebe was swift and unstoppable in her approach. It had been inappropriate for her, dressed in the clothes in which she'd died, no matter how much I'd cleaned them. She still wouldn't let me approach her, and so I'd laid fresh shirts and a skirt I'd found – presumably one of my vampiric nomad friend's – on her mangled bed. She'd dressed quickly, and waited for me. Her instincts were still very much in play, like I should've expected; she heard everything, saw everything I did.

But she was pleased too; I could feel her joy radiating from her as we ran through the thicket of trees. She dodged them easily, scampering over branches and leaping from boulders with the same agility I possessed; no instruction was necessary. She'd slipped through the water, in comparison to my jump, and let out a slight gasp. I knew she couldn't feel it's cool, but certainly the familiar sensation of being in the water was good to her.

Her tee-shirt was drenched through; a little embarassed, I turned away. Nonetheless, her joy – and her new memories of racing through the trees, the wind whipping her hair and clothes into oblivion, sprung from her. There was still the bitterness there of not having died, but rather, having started a new – more uncomfortable life – burning through her, but it had faded slightly.

At the clearing, we paused; the wide arc of older trees and mossy rocks providing me with a good stop to pause and explain to Phoebe exactly what we do next. She seemed fascinated, her eyes taking in the thin streams of light filtering in through the green leafy sky, at the miniscule moss covering the dark dirt.

"I explained to you what vegetarianism was, right?" I'd asked; she nodded.

"No humans." She'd said softly, and for some reason, there was no anger in her voice when she said it, despite the fact she knew what vampires were 'supposed' to eat. "None."

"You're quick." I'd said, and at the sound of my laughter she'd looked up, the tiniest sshock coming from her. "So what do you feel like for lunch, then?"

Her red eyes widened, and her posture had stiffened at my easy, familiar tone; I'd held up two hands, keeping still, so as to ward her off. "What ... do you mean?" she'd said, strain in the words; I was surprised she hadn't taken me down already, I who had infinitely prolonged a life she didn't want.

"... Um." she'd whispered. "I can ... smell ... it's ... rich, but ... it's ..." her delicate little nose wrinkled in displeasure.

I laughed. She was undoubtably referring to the overripe, heady scent of the deer, just a few twenty kilometres or so ahead. They were indeed unpleasant; too rich, and too salty, an overpowering taste and scent overall. I did not dare admit to her that I had slipped often, drinking from humans as I would've from her, when it all became too much. No; now, with the last of the tempting humans now immortal, I would try to stick to this new path. It would not be that hard - or at least, with another vampire to keep in check, I would hope so. I had probed ahead as we'd run, heading away from all civilization except the deer.

"They're not tasty." I'd agreed. "But ... better than others. Better than eating humans."

Her eyes had flashed scarlet at that, and I'd caught an almost impossible to snag memory; her mother, her father, laughing faces. Her body was rigid, her face locked into a mask as she trembled. I'd doubted that she would've chosen the vegetarian way, what with perfectly good reasons to avenge herself, her human sorrows, and all else upon the family that had beaten her and corrupted her innocence, and the friends that had doubted her. But still she held still, unbreathing - that instinct had come to her naturally. For a long ten minutes she stood there, battling, and I'd watched the war rage, helpless to aid her. I could not influence a person's character or emotions any more than I could show myself to others.

"Will we..." she began, her voice still pained, "Go ... now? Hunt now?"

I could understand the reason for her lilting, shaking words; she was still fighting. I nodded wordlessly and we sprinted forward, light and easy on the forest's carpet. The deer; large, fully-grown creatures that were robust and strong, started at the sight of us, their large blinking eyes staring at us. I caught their animal flickers of fear as they bolted, but paused to watch. Phoebe flew effortlessly - graceful, and far faster than other newborns I'd seen before - around the glade. For a moment she was behind me, and I could feel her own animal rage, that vicious longing to strike out at me. She hovered there, but hunger propelled her onwards - and no blood could be drained from me. Her shirt dried in the wind as she bolted, pinning the largest of the deer to the ground. I selected another, smaller target; I was not so hungry, and took my fill as I watched Phoebe. She delicately cut into the deer's neck, a long incision like the ones that had been in her arms - this surprised me - and drank thirstily, growing more vicious as she drank more. Phoebe took another three or four down, and I became aware that if anyone were to see her, they would think they were looking at an Angel of Death, with her, once again, blood-stained shirt and dirtied face.

She flitted away from the carcasses once she was done, wiping her mouth. The rage in her eyes had dulled, but now pity emanated for her, for the little creatures on the ground. And for me.

"We'll be heading back now?"

I nodded. My house; her room.

"I'll be going with you, I suppose." she said, her birdsong voice quicker and more lighter now that she was full and her thirst just the slightest bit abated. I could still remember the cooled taste of her blood, and a shudder went through me. Her emotions were coloured slightly more than her others; I was surprised. Her pity for me was kind.

"Yep." I said. "To my place."

And we headed back. I reminded myself to talk to Carlisle in a few days; I would need his help. He would surely take care of Phoebe better than I ever could, no matter how much I longed for her vivid emotions and dreams.

"Thank... you."

The voice behind me made me start, whirl around; Phoebe dropped to the ground, snarling, her eyes wild. I relaxed my stance, and after a few minutes of assessing me, she did so as well. Shame coloured her tone.

"I ... well, stuff happened. I didn't think this sort of thing -- I mean, it's a kid's fairytale that my mum never told -- um. I just, I'm glad you've helped me out." she murmured quietly; I picked it ouf ot the whispering of the trees.

"It's alright." I said, unsure how to console her, "I would've wanted someone to do the same for me."

And her pity swelled and grew.

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Yes, I know, Phoebe's a ... slightly more adapted sort of vampire too. But charting the whole newborn year is hard, although Phoebe won't be very friendly for a long time yet. Thankfully she's got a good influence. Now go go go, **REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! :D**


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